


Ghosts That Haunt Your Building

by otterzest



Series: All These Abandoned Buildings [5]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Canon Compliant, Consensual Daemon Touching, DÆS9, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Retelling, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterzest/pseuds/otterzest
Summary: The ghosts that haunt your building are prepared to take on substanceAnd the dull pain that you live with isn't getting any duller-“The Young Thousands,”by The Mountain GoatsGarak is not a great friend. Julian is. A revision of "The Wire," with dæmons.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: All These Abandoned Buildings [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662244
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Pretty sure it’s against the law to have a DS9 AU and _not_ include a retelling of "The Wire." It’s already a goddamned hurt/comfort fanfiction in its own right, so what harm is there anyways?)

Garak turned and briskly strode away from the replimat waiting line, leaving Julian and [Celess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93mKHx8gEKU>Celess</a>%20staring%20after%20him.%0A%0AFrom%20across%20the%20pathway%20Major%20Kira%20caught%20Julian%E2%80%99s%20eye%20and%20walked%20up,%20<a%20href=) staring after him. From across the pathway Major Kira caught Julian’s eye and walked up, [her daemon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UoPpxqnFYXo) loping at her side. The pika stood up on his hind legs to talk to the flamingo: “what was that all about?” Celess let out a nervous bleat and Julian shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea.” 

“Well, if he’s up to something, better let Odo know.” Kira crossed her arms and looked back in the direction Garak had stalked towards, but there was no sign of the Cardassian in the Promenade midday crowd. “Not that you could really tell, them _being like that._ ”

The pika sneezed derisively, kicked out his hind legs as he circled Kira’s ankles. It took Julian a moment to understand what the Bajoran had meant, then his forehead creased into a frown. “Trill don’t have daemons, and you appear to understand Jadzia perfectly well.”

“That’s different.” Kira scooped up her daemon and tucked him under her chin. “They’ve got the symbiotes, that’s close enough.”

“Not all of them do. Besides what about Romulans, or Klingons, or -“

“Cardassians don’t have souls,” the pika suddenly piped up. “That’s the difference.”

“What?” Julian scoffed, unprepared for this abrupt spiritual left turn, as Celess reared back and flapped her wings. A passing Bajoran scooted out of her wingspan and shot them a dirty look. “How is that - I…”

Kira shrugged back. The pika looked smug. “They don’t. They don’t have daemons, and no person with a soul could do what the Cardassians did to Bajor.” She let her daemon climb up onto her shoulder. “And frankly, doctor, I don’t care if you believe the Prophets or not: prove to me that Garak has a soul.”

“...Regardless, that sudden departure was out of character,” Julian replied, still somewhat baffled. He extended his right hand and Celess nudged her bill into his palm. 

Kira crossed her arms. “Who’s to say. Anyways, don’t be late to the senior staff meeting this afternoon, it’s in 40 minutes in Ops.” She nodded to him, and the pika daemon made amicable eye contact with Celess. Then with a turn and a twitch of a nose the pair left. 

Celess sighed. “Her prejudice is understandable, at least.”

“Mmhm.” Julian Celess’ bill from his fingers, turned back to the line behind the replimat. “I suppose I should eat, anyways.”

“You should.” The daemon [roused](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4Bh_2Mp40M) her feathers, shaking out some of the tension. “But what on earth could have gotten into Garak?”

Julian glanced back over his shoulder one more time, half expecting Garak to reappear and apologize. The promenade was empty of Cardassians. 

“I’m not sure.” 

\------

For Quark to call him, things must be _truly_ bad.

Julian wove through the first-shift crowd towards the bar, Celess in tow behind him. Garak’s earlier description of _loud crude and vulgar_ was in full swing, with humanoids and daemons both laughing and hollering over the din. To meet the human and his daemon Quark had to step around and through the mix, taking care not to accidentally touch any of his patrons. 

The Ferengi was agitated, and angrily led Julian towards the middle of the bar. “He comes in here complaining of a headache. The next thing you know he’s drunk down half my stock of kanar!” They squeezed past an elderly Bajoran man with some sort of large bird daemon. 

The little part of Julian and Celess’ shared consciousness - the part that never stopped being a doctor, even after punching out at the infirmary - filed this away as another symptom. Perfect health, indeed.

“You didn’t cut him off?”

“I tried! He said if I did he’d tear me apart like cheap papercloth.” Quark unhappily accepted the medkit Julian shoved into his hands. 

“Even after you agreed to get him that _sizing scanner?_

Quark was a professional; his expression didn’t even flinch at Julian’s tone. “Rule of Acquisition number 82: Never mix business with your other business. Look, if you can’t get him to settle down I’m going to call security. Let him sober up in Odo’s drunk tank overnight.”

“It won’t come to that.”

“It better not,” Quark muttered under his breath.

Julian picked his way over towards the bar, where Garak was slumped over a bottle of bright blue alcohol. The handful of glasses and bottles scattered around him were empty, as were both seats to his immediate left and right. A Bajoran would not sit next to a Cardassian even if he was wearing a Bajoran earring and reading a prayer scroll; a _drunk_ Cardassian would be a truly frightening event to endure. 

“Come on, Garak,” Quark called over the din, “haven’t you had enough?”

“On the contrary!” Garak pulled himself upright into a sitting position, still putting the majority of his weight on the bottle. “Anyone who touts the numbing quality of your liquor is either a liar or a lightweight. When are you going to break out the hard stuff?”

“For you? Not tonight.” Quark glanced up at Julian, who had arrived at Garak’s right completely unnoticed. “Seems you have a visitor, Garak.”

Garak blinked, eyes bleary, and swung his unsteady gaze around the room until -

“Doctor!”

Julian smiled slightly. “Hello, Garak.”

Garak visibly brightened, waved Julian over to the bar with a magnanimous, if uncoordinated gesture. “Please, join me!”

“I think I will.” Julian slid down into the next bar stool, and Celess slowly sidled up next to Garak’s right side, watching him warily. Julian doubted Garak noticed he was now the focal point of two concerned stares; given the unsteadiness of the hand that was now clutching a bottle of kanar, Julian doubted Garak could notice much at all right now. 

Quark returned to the bar and began to clean up the empties. Julian didn’t know much about Cardassian metabolism, but even accounting for a hypothetical lightspeed rate of alcohol synthesis, it was a massive quantity for Garak’s size. He was astounded the Cardassian was even upright, let alone speaking clearly. 

“Anyways, please accept my apologies for my behavior earlier. It was reprehensible.” Garak glanced at Julian, ran a bleary eye around the space around him, then turned to suddenly see Celess at his right. “Oh!” He exclaimed. “I am so sorry, my dear. Please excuse my rudeness.”

Celess bleated in surprise. “It’s alright, Garak,” she replied, her soft voice almost impossible to hear over the din. Having a Cardassian, with no daemon of his own, speak to his added an additional surreal element to the already bizarre scene playing out before Julian’s eyes. 

“Forgive me for not saying so earlier - I am always concerned that I will disrupt some antiquated Federation social policy if I address a daemon directly - but I have always thought -“ Garak paused to take a drink directly from the kanar bottle “- that your coloration is quite striking. Almost the same hue as a Romulan orchid. You would not look out of place in the botanical gardens on Risa!”

“Thank you,” Celess accepted. “That is very kind of you to say.”

Garak smiled widely, held up the bottle in a toast, then set it down with a clatter. “I must admit, I thought I knew all about Terran fauna, but you are a surprise. Both of you!” He added swinging around to face Julian again. “How such an inelegant, hyperactive species such as your own came from a planet capable of producing this” - again, a gesture to Celess - “is beyond me.”

Julian flashed a small tight smile. “I’m not sure, either - I’m a doctor, not a daemonologist.”

Garak laughed, drank from the bottle again and returned it to the bar counter. Julian shot Quark a meaningful look. 

“I apologize for my outburst at lunch, Doctor,” Garak continued. “It was unbecoming, to say the very least. However, I will make it up to you - _what do you think you’re doing?_ ” 

Garak lunged across the bar, swiping the bottle of kanar Quark had been attempting to discretely remove. The ferengi backed away, palms up. 

Julian placed a hand on Garak’s sleeve and the Cardassian whirled around, and for a brief second Julian wondered if he’d horribly miscalculated. But then his friend relaxed and his gaze softened. 

“I would love to join you this evening,” Julian soothed, gently taking the bottle of kanar from Garak’s hands. “But I think I would prefer to drink somewhere more... quiet.” 

Julian realized he was using his gentlest, most comforting bedside manner /let-me-buy-you-a-drink voice. (Celess mentally noted that those two voices were one and the same - _have we always conflated business and pleasure like this?_ she wondered, then another, quicker thought flashed underneath that: _which of the two is this?_ ) He wrapped a hand around the neck of the bottle and slowly stood up, while Celess delicately pinched Garak’s sleeve and gently tugged, pulling him up off the stool and on to his swaying feet. 

Even through the haze of intoxication Garak brightened, leaned into the daemon’s movements. Celess had to step back quickly to avoid his hand brushing her bill, but still clung to his jacket.

“An excellent idea! We’ll go to my quarters.” 

“Wonderful.”

Julian steered Garak towards the exit, hand resting at the small of his back, and in turn Garak raised a hand to put weight on Julian’s shoulder, putting Celess at his right. She was still gripping his sleeve with the tip of her bill. At the edge of his mental awareness Julian could feel the silky fabric, patterned with neat even stitches. Julian continued, maintaining the same honeyed tone, “I just need to stop at the infirmary on the way.”

Garak’s drunken smile switched off in an instant and he stopped dead. Celess kept moving a second longer and yanked on his jacket, then again impatiently. 

“Infirmary?” The Cardassian’s gaze had lost its fuzzy focus, snapped onto Julian. 

“Just for a moment, I need -“ Julian tried to smooth over the moment but he was too late. Garak dropped his arm from Julian’s shoulder, stepped back with a look of exaggerated betrayal. 

Celess, still holding on to his sleeve, also hastily stepped backwards to stop Garak from touching her once more. 

Prior to this interaction ( _and no matter what Dax thinks_ Celess thought mutinously) Julian believed he knew his friend well enough to gauge his emotional reactions. Now, for the second time in as many minutes, the Human was painfully aware of how out of his depth he truly was. Julian had no way to predict how _this_ Garak - clearly in pain, turning to substance abuse - would react to his ministrations. 

“What kind of fool do you take me for, Doctor?” Garak spat. “This is a trick!” As if only now aware of his empty hands, he glanced around rapidly. “And give me back my kanar!”

Hand behind his back, passing the bottle off to an exasperated Quark, Julian pressed on, “I will - in the infirmary.”

“Give me my kanar back!”

“I promise it will be fine,” Julian tried lowering his voice, hoping Garak would mirror his low energy. Celess, still clinging to Garak’s sleeve like a concerned child, chirped in sympathy. “Whatever you are afraid of, or skeptical of, we can work it out -“

“I don’t need to be patronized by your Federation propaganda! Nor do I need your Terran _pet_ -“ he yanked his arm up to his chest, pulling himself free of Celess’ grip so she stumbled and nearly fell - “to herd me around like I’m some sort of Bolian sheep!” 

Celess stepped forward again and made to grab for Garak’s flailing arm as Julian made a last ditch attempt at reason. “Garak -”

“I will not play this ridiculous game with you, Doctor!” 

Although Garak was not a tall man his presence and his anger loomed over Julian, who found himself leaning backwards. “I have had it with your Federation meddling!”

One of Garak’s gray-skinned hands suddenly slammed down on Julian’s shoulder, claws inching towards his throat, and the doctor’s stomach lurched as he realized truly how mistaken he had been. If Garak well and truly wanted to kill him - even drunk out of his mind - he could snap Julian’s neck like a twig. Dead before security could even arrive at the scene.

“Give - me -“

But then Julian realized that Garak’s hand wasn’t moving, but instead his fingers were digging welts into his shoulder, and his entire frame had begun to convulse. 

Suddenly bearing the entire body weight of an adult Cardassian on his slight frame, Julian slid to his knees, helping Garak down to a prone position on the dirty bar floor as he seized. 

Julian slammed a hand on his badge - “Bashir to medical, I need an anticonvulsant kit for a Cardassian male patient - Bashir to Ops, I need an emergency beam into the infirmary!” 

He grabbed Celess’ small frame and tucked her under his arm, and the three of them were immediately beamed away to the infirmary.


	2. Chapter 2

_Cardassians don’t -_

No. _Assess, diagnose, treat. Compartmentalize._

The standard midazolam cocktail hypospray found in most medkits was formulated for mammalian humanoids - just another confounding factor that exponentially increased the risks. He had made a snap decision and selected the dosage recommended for adult Klingon men, but even as he administered the hypo and Garak’s tense muscles relaxed, Julian was worrying that he had made the wrong call. Reptilian metabolism was slower. Did this immediate effect indicate too high of a dosage? Would it send his patient too deep into anesthesia? Trigger a coma? 

_Cardassians don’t have souls._

Julian blinked firmly, willing the intrusive memory away, and fumbled with another hypospray canister. The head nurse helped ease Garak’s now sedated body onto the biobed, and began connecting a bevy of medical devices. Her dæmon, a round little fuzzy mammal somewhat like a rabbit, trundled over to where Celess was standing out of the way. He companiately nudged at her ankle and Celess honked in acknowledgement.

While the humanoids were adjusting monitors and IVs the dæmons briefly conversed. “The Cardassian is your friend, right?”

Celess preened at a downy pink feather, forcefully plucked it away from her body. It drifted down to the floor before crumbling back into golden Dust, which in turn dissolved into nothing. “We thought so. Now I’m not so sure.”

The other dæmon swiped at his whiskers with a fluffy paw. “Doctor Bashir doesn’t seem particularly compromised, with his friend like this. Is he all right?” He glanced up at Celess. “You don’t seem that upset, either.”

Celess puffed out her feathers, averted her gaze. “What matters is the seizure stopped and we got him to the infirmary. It would’ve been the same with any other patient.”

“Hmm.” The viscacha looked doubtful. From several feet away Julian felt a spark of Celess’ irritation and shot a look at Jabara, who had the decency to look embarrassed on behalf of her overly frank dæmon. Before Julian had the chance to say anything she glanced at the monitor to her left. 

“Vital signs are stabilizing, returning to normal Cardassian range.”

“Good.” Satisfied with the IV placement, Julian stepped back to assess the scene once more. Garak’s heart rate had slowed to normal, his respiration deep and slow. Underneath the monitoring devices his chest rose and fell at a steady rate. 

Julian’s own heart was still pounding, and he attempted to slow it with discrete deep breaths. Celess meandered back to his side and without thinking he reached out a hand, seeking her reassuring touch. “Thank you, nurse. I think we’re in the clear for now.”

“Of course, doctor.” Jabara was reviewing a PADD, brows furrowed. “This is Mr. Garak, right? We don’t appear to have any medical history on file for him. I don’t think he’s ever been here before.”

Julian ran a hand over his eyes. “No, I suppose we would not.”

“Do you know his age? Any preexisting conditions?” 

Julian’s laugh was hollow. “I feel like today I know even less than I did yesterday.” The nurse deepened her frown and he continued, “let’s do some basic imaging scans. EEG, cranial radiographs, whatever we can.” He pulled out a penlight, gently rolled an eyelid up with his thumb. “Normal pupillary response, that’s something.”

“I’ll get the imaging suite ready.” Jabara’s dæmon retreated to her side and he sent Celess another questioning glance as the two left. 

Julian folded down onto an exam chair opposite Garak’s biobed, elbows propped on knees, face in his hands. Celess nudged her face into his arms and snaked her neck around his, resting her chin on his shoulder. The dæmon gently preened the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “It’s all right. Garak is okay.”

“Okay _for now_.” 

Julian felt Celess’ warm breath on his skin as she huffed in mock irritation. He leaned into her slight presence, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease away as his breathing aligned with hers, air moving in and out of their lungs in a continuous loop. His heart was still pounding from the exertion of restraining his patient, and the alarm that preceded his collapse.

Old habits die hard. For as far back as Julian cared to remember, he had successfully calmed himself by naming human and dæmon physiology, identifying points where he and his dæmon touched. In a half-dozen stressful surgeries, impossible diagnoses, medical exams - even as recently as the latest diplomatic station tour Commander Sisko insisted Julian conduct. Rattling off human and avian anatomy gave him something to focus on, a way to step back from the situation and then return more calm and controlled. 

_Gnathotheca of the dentary touching the spinous process of his C5 vertebrae. An arm wrapped around so that the metacarpals and proximal phalanx of his right hand were touching where the occipital condyle articulated with the cervical vertebrae. Phalanges of left hand wrapped around the ninth and tenth secondary flight feathers of Celess’ right wing, underneath the secondary coverts and tertial feathers -_

He could feel the adrenaline seeping out of his bones, leaving leaden exhaustion in its wake. Less than ten minutes ago he had been in Quark’s, persuading Garak to stop drinking and accompany him to the infirmary. Now that the immediate crisis was over he had time to process what had just happened, create a treatment plan, think about next steps. Act as the Commanding Medical Officer of a Federation Starbase should.

He pulled Celess onto his lap. The positive biofeedback of her presence was slowly clearing his head. _Junction of tibiotarsus and tarsometatarsus resting on top of his patella. Keel touching his femur, coracoid -_

 _Cardassians don’t have souls._

Kira’s words from the day before continued to echo in his mind. Julian generally took Bajoran beliefs in stride, as he did with the faiths of all his other colleagues. They should not impact his professional opinions or diagnoses. But this comment stung, and the hurt refused to heal.

Because misery loves company, Jadzia’s voice joined Kira’s. _it’s not like the two of you are friends._

Julian scowled, glaring at Garak’s recumbent form over Celess’ head. “That’s not even relevant,” he muttered to no one, balling handfuls of feathers in his fists. Celess grumbled in discomfort and he relaxed slightly, but still held her with sweaty hands.

Friendship was irrelevant to the case, but Kira’s words were not. Souls. Dæmons. Interchangeable terms to Humans and Bajorans, but not to other races. Not to Cardassians, although they had analogous internal morphology.

Julian sat up, fingers sliding off his dæmon’s feathers. 

A Rusakov particle generation deficiency, perhaps? 

Julian stood, detangling himself from his dæmon, and strode to the nearest computer monitor. A few keystrokes brought up what he already knew: next to no information was available on Cardassian-specific anatomy in the Starfleet medical database. He could access morphometric data, anecdotal accounts and articles, an outdated summary of similar reptilian races and their respective physiologies. Nothing about neurological function, nothing about substance abuse or seizures or headaches. Nothing about Dust by any name. Biometric scans of nervous and skeletal systems, collected from war casualties. Nothing about living tissues.

As Julian dejectedly clicked through the sparse pages he heard Nurse Jabara roll the standing EEG console over to Garak’s biobed, followed by the clicking of tricorder buttons and the hum of the machine. 

He pulled up a diagram of the Federation Standard Humanoid Brain, idly moused over the different regions one by one. His gaze lingered over the frontal lobe, then the prefrontal cortex, then the Rusakov particle generation matrix embedded within. Cardassian brain shape and volume wasn’t that different from the Humanoid standard, a product of convergent evolution. Did they have the same Rusakov generation particle density? Functionality?

intrigued, Julian superimposed the reptilian brain over the mammalian humanoid model and directed the computer to warp the images and align the two structures as best possible. The particle matrix stretched out across the distended olfactory bulb and telencephalon. It appeared to be distributed further than in the mammal brain, could that possibly alter Dust production? Would that even have an impact at all? There were recorded cases of Rusakov generation malfunction in humanoids, perhaps in - 

Celess nipped at Julian’s arm, drawing him out of his increasingly rapid train of thought, and nodded behind them. He followed her gaze, saw where Nurse Jabara was glancing back and forth between her scanner and the data display on a nearby screen. 

She caught his eye, waved him over. “Doctor -?”

The display was showing a rendered image of the Cardassian’s brain, with different sections dimming and brightening in accordance with electrical activity. But there was a dark spot at the junction of the frontal lobe and the corpus callosum. Nestled in soft tissue, there was something dense and dark and too geometric to be an organic structure. 

An ugly thing, Julian thought to himself and immediately wondered why. As Jabara pulled up a three dimensional rendering of the object, embedded in thick ropes of scarred brain tissue, he reached down and felt for Celess’ presence at his side. She preened at his hand, worrying away at a ragged cuticle in an attempt to recapture some of the calm they had cultivated just a few minutes before.

Jabara turned to the doctor. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

Julian shook his head. “It looks like a neural implant. But most current biomedical technology is made out of ceramic polymers, not... whatever this is.”

“I scanned it, and found no Federation medical ID code.” Jabara looked worried, her little dæmon cuddled up next to an ankle. “Keep supportive therapy going?”

“For now, at least.” Jabara nodded and returned to her station , tapping away at a PADD, leaving Julian alone with the unconscious Cardassian and the strange neural imaging screen. 

Celess squeaked, and Julian absentmindedly stroked the feathers along her cheek. His earlier impatience with Garak’s evasiveness - forgotten in the chaos of the medical emergency - was returning, eroding his normal impervious medical confidence. This whole incident had been preventable. He could have pushed more, followed Garak back to his shop that morning, called for an emergency medical beam -

Celess nipped at his wrist. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she snapped, “and get to work. Doctor.”

He nodded, but stayed at the biobed. _Diagnose, treat, compartmentalize._ Keep moving forwards. Solve the problem. 

If there had been any warning signs from Garak, it was too late to worry about them now. 

“Damn you,” Julian muttered, possibly addressing Garak, or himself. Then, Celess tucked under one arm, he left his patient, tapping his badge to call the only other person on the station who could possibly identify this mysterious piece of Cardassian biotechnology.  


🦢

They had, of course, discussed dæmons. 

Towards the beginning of their - now Julian was uncomfortable calling it a friendship, leaving the actual classification of their relationship in a nebulous state - _consistent lunch meetings,_ he and Garak carefully traded cultural anecdotes and information. Julian asked questions about Cardassian culture, and Garak easily prized borderline confidential Federation information out of Julian’s stumbling attempts at conversational combat. The doctor soon learned to think and act quickly in their increasingly argumentative weekly lunches.

The dæmons conversation had been one such intense exchange. As they sat down to eat, Garak inquired why Federation humanoids did not physically remove their dæmons from their bodies. Surely it was safer to keep them away from one’s person? 

Julian had choked on his replicated arugula. “Excuse me?” Celess blurted out while Julian fumbled for a glass of water. 

Garak cocked his head. “I apologize if that comment was distressing, doctor. I really did not intend for it to be.”

Julian gulped down his water, coughed again. “Sorry, but - that is an extreme thing to do to any dæmonic humanoid.”

“Is it?” An inquisitive gleam shone in Garak’s eye. “From an outsider’s perspective, they seem like a tremendous liability. A fragile, delicate external manifestation of your most innermost self, bared to the world at large! How Humans and Bajorans are content to parade their true nature around as they do everyday…” He waved a dismissive hand. “It baffles me.”

Julian cleared his throat awkwardly. “You make it sound so indecent.” Celess puffed out her feathers then settled them loudly, long black wings disappearing into pink down. 

“It is indecent! No self-respecting Cardassian would ever be so open, if we even had the physical ability.” He took a small bite of the vegetable stew he had replicated. “I know that Humans have been altering their physiology for centuries, how is the removal of one's dæmon any different from that of any other appendage?” 

A Bajoran civilian walked past their Replimat table and glared at Garak as he spoke, possum dæmon chittering and clinging to a shoulder. 

Julian knew Garak was feeling around for a confrontation, prodding the doctor’s every nerve to find where they were worn the most raw. He attempted to cooly sip his drink, even though his eyes were still watering slightly. “What you are describing is called intercision,” he said aloud. “And if you have done your research, as I do not doubt you have, you will know about the dark chapters of Terran history where it was applied. And enforced. And the impacts those actions have had, even to this day.”

“Why should a simple tailor need to know these things?” Garak shrugged, gesturing with his spoon. Celess snorted in scorn. 

“Regardless, I have heard a thing or two on the matter. But I must say that, as someone not blessed with an external animus such as yourself -“ Julian raised a brow at the esoteric turn of phrase, wondered if this was a deliberate choice or a flub of the universal translator “- I must admit I was challenged to truly empathize with the descriptions. You appear to have a visceral revulsion to the concept. Care to enlighten me, doctor?”

Julian swallowed, more slowly this time, and set down his fork. Garak was the very picture of an attentive audience. 

“I’m not entirely sure how to explain it, outside of the context of Human norms.” Julian rubbed the side of his neck as he spoke, and Celess twisted hers around to preen her feathers in tandem. 

“Obviously all humanoid - all _sentient_ \- brains produce Rusakov particles, the matter that forms a dæmon’s physical body, and critical components of the central nervous system. Why they manifest externally or internally in different races I couldn’t say.”

“I presume that Cardassian doctors have their own terminology for Rusakov particles and their generation,” he continued, hoping the bait would take. “The Federation as a whole is woefully uneducated about Cardassian physiology.”

Garak looked remorseful. “I am sure they do. Alas, I am not a man of science or healing, so I can’t help you in this specific area.”

The bait was left floundering in the water. Julian masked his disappointment but continued on. “Regardless, these particles are created by, and are essential for, sentient life and thought.”

Garak looked thoughtful. “I believe I _have_ heard of this,” he mused. “Is this not the Pagh that Bajoran spirituality finds so important?” 

Julian nodded. “Yes, I think so. Actually, that’s what is so exciting about the Wormhole - the Orbs, or whatever you want to call them, are some of the first ever non-organic matter imbued with Rusakov particles. And this entire sector has such a high background radiation of Rusakov particles, it’s unheard of!” He paused to take a breath, then realized what he had shared. Garak was smiling faintly, and Celess nipped at Julian’s hand. More Federation secrets. 

“How _fascinating,_ ” Garak nearly purred. Julian internally cursed at himself - the Cardassian looked a little too pleased to obtain that information.

Apparently taking in Julian’s poorly concealed regret, Garak poignantly added, “but we were discussing these Rusakov particles within the brain?”

“That’s right.” Julian took a moment to reorganize his thoughts before diving back in. “To remove the particles - to remove a human’s dæmon, or a Bajoran’s dæmon - is to essentially sever connections between essential parts of the brain.” He made a motion like a blade slicing something in two, and Celess flinched. “This is the case, regardless of species,” he added. “Even in a non-dæmonic race like Cardassians, the physical removal of Rusakov particles from the brain would cause significant neurological dysfunction.” 

“But not immediately fatal?” Garak probed. Celess’ eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Julian shook his head. “Potentially survivable. Intercision may be fatal if performed incorrectly. Historically it has been used as a method of oppression and control over persons deemed ill-fitting to the common culture.” Celess pressed herself back into Julian’s side and he wrapped a hand around her small body. “But Humans discovered how to remove dæmons centuries ago, and spent years refining the process. Countless casualties suffered the cruelest fate a Human could endure, in the name of this procedure.” He took a breath and scooped up the last of his salad, chewing unenthusiastically. 

Garak used this pause to speak up, “My dear doctor, I did not intend to distress you. If you wish to drop the subject -“

“No, it’s fine.” Celess leaned further into Julian’s side, hooking her lower jaw over a shoulder and softly preening at Julian’s uniform collar. He brightened. “After all, this is in the spirit of cross-cultural exchange! And as a Starfleet medical officer, dæmons are within my jurisdiction. I am more than happy to share this with you.” ( _And build your trust as your Federation spy contact!_ he thought at Celess, internally giddy. She squeaked in delight.)

Garak maintained his look of innocent, polite curiosity. “How generous of you. Please, continue!”

“It’s hard for me to overstate the significance of dæmons in Human culture.” Julian glanced around the replimat, then at the larger crowds drifting through the promenade. Beyond a group of Bajoran Vedics, he saw Commander Sisko and Lieutenant Dax pass in front of the Security office. Sisko’s badger dæmon loped comfortably between the two as they spoke, all three animated and deep in conversation. They crossed paths with a Bajoran newcomer to the station, who was trailed by a massive elk-like dæmon. Other Humans and Bajorans shied away from their antlers, leaning back to prevent accidental contact.

Garak followed Julian’s gaze, then glanced at Celess, still primly standing at Julian’s elbow. Julian pushed down a twinge of insecurity; of all the dæmons around them, his was by far the most delicate. With her pink and scarlet feathers, certainly the most brightly colored.

Suddenly worried that Celess would not measure up favorably to the Commander’s solid unflappable dæmon, but not entirely sure why he cared, Julian hastily continued. “They’re more than an appendage, or just an extension of the nervous system. Physiologically a dæmon functions as an external part of the humanoid mind, but it’s phenotypic appearance takes on profound significance in almost every known dæmonic culture.” 

“Really.” Garak raised a ridged brow, surprised. “So each dæmon’s appearance speaks to, what - the social caste of their accompanying humanoid? Their value within the ranks of the Federation?”  
“What? No. More in that, the animal shape your dæmon emulates speaks to your character, your individuality. Your distinct characteristics, based off a life of experiences.”

“Oh. Well, that certainly sounds like the Federation,” Garak said dismissively. “Yet another opportunity to tout everyone’s individual intrinsic value, regardless of their utility. The pinnacle of self-indulgence.”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with knowing yourself thoroughly,” Julian sniffed. He sipped at what was left of his water. “A dæmon tells you almost all you need to know about that person. When a dæmon settles in adolescence - when takes on a specific form and stops changing,” he added, at Garak’s questioning expression, “it is often an important rite of passage into adulthood. Knowledge of one’s form can be a powerful tool for self-discovery.”

He gestured to his own dæmon, who was watching the conversation with an air of detached amusement. “For example, my self-concept and identity is intrinsically tied with Celess and her flamingo shape.” 

A triumphant spark in Garak’s eye immediately told Julian he had made a mistake. “And what, dear doctor, does this beautiful creature say about you?”

Julian felt the tips of his ears burning as he blushed. People rarely took a liking to Celess’ appearance, more often than not calling her _weak_ and _delicate_ , among other, crueler, things. Celess appeared flattered, tilted her head with a coy look. 

“I think,” Celess suddenly said, voicing her thoughts aloud for the first time in Garak’s presence, “that’s something you ought to discover yourself.” 

Julian’s eyes widened, and he glanced down at his dæmon. She was not the sort to interject into humanoid conversations (with the exception of certain people who addressed her directly, as Jadzia now did habitually with Celess and several other colleagues’ dæmons). She seemed pleased with herself, and her sudden departure from the norm.

She continued, “Since you are a _spy_ , as we have previously discussed, that should not be too difficult.” 

Garak smiled warmly in response, and Julian ran a hand over his mouth, for once embarrassed into silence. Celess resumed preening at Julian’s sleeve and wrist as if she had said nothing at all. 

Garak nodded at Julian. “Well said, my dear. But my goodness, _spycraft_ would be so much easier if every Cardassian was foolish enough to carry around an external manifestation of their personal vulnerabilities! You might as well hand out a data rod to everyone you meet, with a written record of every weakness you possess.”

Julian got his metaphorical feet back under him, making a mental note to argue with his dæmon later. She made a mental note _back_ at him, implying that, if _he_ could not bring himself to say certain things, she would say them _for_ him. 

He pushed past his embarrassment.“Perhaps that lack of vulnerability is what shaped Cardassian culture as it appears today,” Julian replied. “And that vulnerability is why the Federation seeks out peace in all forms of life.” 

Garak did not quite roll his eyes, but it was close. “If you say so. Now -“ he leaned forward curiously, “- I believe we were discussing the _physical weaknesses_ of dæmons.” He smiled. “Perish the thought! But if you were to be separated from your lovely Celess…” 

Julian rubbed his eyes. “Not only would I lose a good portion of my cognitive abilities, object permanence, executive function and a dozen other neural processes, but I would lose touch with a fundamental part of myself. What makes me the person I am.” He grimaced. 

Garak nodded. “Academically, I understand your point, doctor. And even I can admit the utility that a two-bodied shape-shifting being must enjoy - rather like those enjoyed by our Constable Odo, come to think of it. However, the emotional attachment, the symbolism…” he shook his head. “It is not a concept with which I can empathize.”

“I’m not sure if I can come up with an analogous explanation,” Julian mused. “Imagine…” he paused, cast his gaze around the room as he thought.

“Imagine if you woke up one morning and realized you were no longer Cardassian.” 

Garak’s chuckled slightly, but Julian pressed on. “Seriously! You look at yourself in the mirror and all of _this_ -”He waved his hand in front of his face, indicating eye ridges and scales - “is gone. And not only that but all of the things you value because of your heritage are gone. You no longer enjoy kanar, you no longer hold loyalty to the State. In essence, what makes you a distinct Cardassian humanoid is gone.”

Garak was no longer smiling. _Good,_ Julian thought a little savagely. _Take my comments seriously for once._ At his elbow, Celess rolled her eyes. 

“But all of those things would still be present in others,” Garak retorted. “Not singularly unique to my person.”

“It’s not a one for one comparison but it’s close enough.” Julian, feeling comfortable in his argument, took another sip of water. 

“I could communicate with other Cardassians, to reconnect myself with my culture. The loss of my classical features would be unfortunate, but not to the degree of reducing my identity.” 

“Not if you were isolated from all other Cardassians,” Julian shot back without thinking. 

Garak raised a brow and gave Julian a small arch smile over his tea, and a second too late Julian became aware of what he had actually said. “Oh, damn it, I didn’t mean to -“ 

“To compare my current situation to an intercized human?” Garak’s smile broadened. He seemed genuinely amused. “That is, of course, if I actually _am_ the exile you speculate me to be!” He tsked, shaking his head. “My dear doctor, I certainly hope that this conversation is not indicative of your professional bedside manner!”

Celess ducked her head below the table, too embarrassed to remain within sight. Julian wondered if it was medically possible for him to fit his foot even further inside his mouth. Garak did not appear upset, but somehow that was worse.

Julian tried to salvage the conversation. “There’s more to it than that! There’s also the cerebral processing component of a dæmon.”

Garak’s expression didn’t change, but there was a sense of amused patience. “Please, Doctor, do tell.”

“A dæmon is also part of how a human’s brain functions. In much the same way that Rusakov particles generated by your frontal lobe facilitate neural communication, my dæmon is part of my mental processes.”

“Humans are social and communal. We need to talk things out. Our brains and our minds have evolved into a solid back and forth dialogue, to shape ideas and thoughts through multiple angles. In many ways, dæmons are a safeguard against isolation. They maintain the social skills essential to survive in Human society.”

“So, to summarize,” Garak said, “you describe a dæmon as part of your conscious and subconscious mind, a pure expression of individuality and identity, and also a sensory appendage for taking in information.”

Julian had left out a few other notes, including the touch-empathy element and Human taboos, but the thought of unspooling human socio-sexual behaviors for Garak made him a little uncomfortable. Besides, he had seen Garak tactfully step around the dæmons of Federation Humans and some of the less xenophobic Bajorans, so surely he knew about the touch thing, right?

Julian didn’t have to look at Celess to know she was unimpressed. _Coward._

The human dragged his awareness away from his dæmon, and back to the conversation at hand. “That’s a bit clinical, but well… yes. I’d say that covers the basics.”

“It still seems like this… removal is more practical.” Finished with his stew, Garak set the utensil inside the bowl and took up his mug with both hands. “Especially as dæmon form does not seem to be a conscious choice. Another shortfall and, if I may say so, again _another_ argument for intercision.” 

“Even to the detriment of the humanoid, and reduction of mental faculties?”

“Not every position would require it. I imagine those in unstable and dangerous environments, such as our own on this perilous station, would benefit from such a procedure. The higher levels of authority may retain their animus limbs, and be responsible for directing those more in the line of fire.”

“That is a gross removal of physical and mental faculties - borderline fascism!” 

“In the eyes of the Federation, you could slander any system other than your own. It is also perfectly practical to any Cardassian.”

“Then, perhaps it is for the best that Cardassians do not have dæmons.”

“Perhaps.” As Garak took a sip of tea Julian and Celess shared a lightening fast back-and-forth exchange: _is this something that Cardassia has inflicted on Bajorans? Do they still do it? Would they do it to a Federation officer? How much did he already know -_

“I do believe, however, Doctor,” Garak said, interrupting their silent conversation, “that we may both believe that, if Cardassians _had_ dæmons, Carat would have had his removed at the start of his career with the State.”

For a split second Julian was lost, then he remembered his most recent slog through classical Cardassian literature. He nodded. “I believe that lines up with the sacrifices he referenced in the first chapter, alongside the loss of his family, once he turned them over to the Legate.”

“That would make his conflict with Lilit in the third section more relatable to your Federation perspective. And make her execution a much more satisfying conclusion.”

“That was completely unjustified!”

Although the conversation veered away from dæmon discussion, Garak’s words simmered in the back of Julian’s mind for the rest of the meal, and then the day. As he and Celess lay in bed that night, dæmon tucked up at her human’s side, head and neck resting on his chest, they passively exchanged half-formed thoughts and images relating to Cardassian personhood, the role of the State in the creation of the Self, and intercision as a mandatory procedure. 

When Julian finally fell asleep he dreamed that Garak had a dæmon in a small opaque case, and would not tell Julian what she was. When Julian finally got his hands on the box and opened it, there was nothing inside.

🦢

Celess on his heels, Julian burst into the darkened room just in time to see Garak lowering a hypospray from his throat. If he was at all surprised to see the doctor Garak didn’t show it - he turned around to greet the Human with lidded eyes and a slightly slack expression.

Julian snatched the hypo from an unresisting hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, then flipped the tube over and read the label. “Triptacederine? How much of this did you take?”

Garak waved dismissively. “A mere 30 ccs - not nearly enough, I’m afraid -“

Celess honked in alarm. “That would anesthestize an Algorian mammoth!” Julian snapped back, aghast. 

“Well, we Cardassians must be made of stronger stuff.” Even in the dim light Julian could now see Garak’s pupils were dilated from the drug, with barely a sliver of iris visible. Slightly unsteadily, he continued, “I barely even felt it.”

Julian stepped forward. “Now listen to me Garak -“ he began, “I’ve had just about enough of your nonsense. You’re coming back to the infirmary with me, now.” 

Celess’ head swung back and forth as the two argued. The dæmon was uncertain - Julian could feel the ripples of her confusion and anxiety washing over his own anger and frustration, diluting his emotions into a confusing mess. In any other situation she would be addressing his patient’s dæmon, comforting them, connecting with them to earn their trust in Julian’s medical care. Without another dæmon to address, she and Julian both felt limited; an entire undercurrent of communication had been removed. Confusion gave way to despair as she realized how useless she truly was in the moment. 

“I’m not going to help you commit suicide.” Julian’s tone was heated but level. “I’m here to help you.”

“I doubt you can,” Garak snapped, agitation clear despite the slowness of his movements. He took a careful step backwards, away from the doctor. 

Julian’s impatience broke through his professional veneer. “Damn it, Garak, just let me help you!” he burst out. “I want to help! Why is it so bloody unbelievable that I -“

Garak stared, expression unreadable as Julian tripped over the end of his sentence. Suddenly he felt as though he’d run off the edge of a cliff and was pinwheeling over empty air. 

_\- the extensor and flexors of the wings attach to the propatagium, connecting to the pectorialis via the metapatagium -_

“That I - I care about your health,” he finished, a little lamely. “You are my patient,” he quickly added, crossing his arms, “and my friend, even if I am not yours.” Celess’ hackles rose, the spiky feathers a continuation of Julian’s tense stance and scowl. He stepped forward and Garak fell back further, grimacing. 

He bumped up against a table and grasped a box of hypospray cartridges, but before Garak could even open it another stab of pain seemed to overtake him. His knees buckled and he collapsed, panting for air through gritted teeth. Julian slid down next to him and pulled out his medical tricorder.

Garak’s expression didn’t change - still that distant, emotionless stare - but after a few more seconds he blinked. “I think,” he began, “if you examine my primary neural cluster, you will see some slight nerve degradation.”

Warily, still expecting resistance, Julian leaned in and ran a tricorder wand over the top of Garak’s skull. The displayed results were worrying. “Not so slight, I’d say,” Celess muttered over his shoulder. Aloud Julian continued, “we’ve got to get you to the infirmary.”

Garak actually laughed, and vital signs blipped on the tricorder readout. “My dear doctor,” he began, condescension bleeding into his tone, “I have no intention of putting myself on display for the amusement of the Bajoran inhabitants of this station.” 

“It’s not your pride I’m worried about,” Julian snapped back. “It’s that - _implant_ ” - he jabbed a finger at Garak’s forehead - “you’re carrying around inside your head.”

This, at least, seemed to push through Garak’s fog of disorientation; Julian heard a surprised intake of breath that he was certain a sober Garak would have never allowed. “You… know about that, do you?”

“It’s some sort of punishment device, isn’t it?”

“Punishment device?” Garak laughed, sardonic and bitter. “I suppose in a way that’s what it has become.” Haltingly, he raised himself to his feet and stepped away, widening the distance between the two.

“Well,” Julian retorted, still trying to reign in his frustration, “if it wasn’t put there to punish you, what’s it for?” 

The Cardassian, avoiding Julian’s gaze, shook his head slightly. His movements were becoming increasingly sluggish and disoriented, Julian noted; the hypo must be kicking in. At his side, Celess puffed up in worry, wings trembling. 

“Garak! I need to know what we’re up against!”

As he spoke Celess left his side, drifting away from Julian in a wide arc towards the wall at Garak’s back. Julian hated to do this - using your dæmon’s presence as a deterrent to corral another person, knowing that their discomfort would prevent them from moving. It was physical intimidation, but at least in this situation it would be more like a physical restraint, for a patient’s health. 

Celess’ past attempts to stall other humanoids in this way had mostly succeeded, with the target finally cringing away from the alien dæmon presence before the flamingo lost her nerve and retreated to Julian’s side. But as she stepped closer and closer to Garak the Cardassian barely seemed to see her. As he walked past Celess had to hastily back out of his path, as if he felt no instinct against touching other dæmons. 

Julian was still trying to reason with his patient. “If you tell me what it’s for,” he pleaded, “maybe I could find some way to remove it.”

“We _will_ remove it,” Celess chimed in, and both Julian and Garak turned to her in surprise. As she approached Garak, Julian shivered at the sudden all-over prickling sensation of _too close,_ the ancestral alarm system that warned Humans if their souls were in danger. The same discomfort he had been prepared to inflict on Garak. 

Celess did not back down, staying within an arm’s reach of the Cardassian. Her feathers trembled in agitation.

Still staring at the dæmon, Garak addressed Julian. “It’s hopeless, doctor. Believe me - it can’t be removed.”

“How do you know?” Julian and Celess both asked, voices overlapping. Garak grimaced, and retreated back further in the face of overwhelming stereoscopic kindness.

“That’s the whole point! If it could be easily removed it would be useless!” Garak glanced at Julian, and the doctor received the impression that he was being interrogated, sized up, as if _he_ were the one withholding critical information. 

He opened his mouth to protest, but Garak cut him off. “You see, on Cardassia I was entrusted with _certain information._ Information that needed to be kept safe regardless of the situation.” A proud smirk ghosted across Garak’s otherwise grim face. “My implant was given to me by Enabran Tain himself, the very _head_ of the Obsidian Order. If I was ever tortured it was designed to stimulate key parts of my brain, to trigger the production of vast amounts of endorphins.” Bitterness returned to his voice. “I do hope you appreciate the irony, Doctor. The sole purpose of the implant was to make me _immune_ to pain.”

Julian suddenly flashed back to Garak at the bar, the obvious tremor in the hand clutching the bottle of kanar. The flicker of legitimate terror in his normally icy eyes as he collapsed. 

_\- synsacrum is composed of the pelvic girdle, caudal vertebrae and the pygostyle -_

“What caused it to malfunction?” Julian asked. Celess tilted her head to the side, chirped softly in concern.

Garaks voice was uncharacteristically small. “It was never meant for continuous use.”

“What do you mean?”

Garak turned away, head bowed. His face was shadowed in the dim room but Julian could see the tension in the angle of his shoulders, and hear his breath hiss through his teeth. When he spoke his voice cracked. “Living on this station is _torture_ for me, doctor. The temperature is always too cold. The lights are always too bright. Every Bajoran looks at me with loathing and contempt.” 

He straightened up, held his head high. “So, one day I decided I couldn’t live with it anymore. So I took the pain away.”

“How did you activate the implant?”

“I created a device that would allow me to trigger the implant whenever I wanted. At first it was just for a few minutes a day, then I became reliant on it, using it more and more until one day I just never turned it off.”

“How long has it been on?” An unpleasant suspicion was twisting in his stomach. Celess retreated to Julian’s side, eyes still on Garak.

“Two years.”

“So, before we -“

All at once Julian remembered to every interaction he’d had with Garak, from his initial approach at the replimat, to this tense exchange here in his quarters. Every conversation they had, every word exchanged - it had all been under the influence of this implant. 

A selfish question broke through Julian’s mind, startling him like an electric shock. Did Garak - the _real,_ sober, unaffected Garak - even like him? Did the Cardassian enjoy his company in the slightest, or was he just an amusing distraction? After all of this was over (although Julian wasn’t sure how to qualify _all this,_ just that this conversation was the start of something bigger), would Garak still be his friend? (If he was his friend to begin with?)

Julian felt Celess press her small warm body into his leg. _Worry about that later,_ she thought softly. _Patients come first. Diagnose, treat, compartmentalize._

Somewhat soothed by her presence, Julian combed a hand through Celess’ feathers. _Her longer mantle feathers blend into secondary coverts, covering secondary flight feathers, which generate lift while the primaries create forward thrust._

“It was…Before we met.” Julian swallowed, not entirely sure what to do with his feelings of betrayal at this revelation. “And now the implant is breaking down?”

Garak was squinting in the dim light, a shaky hand pressed to his forehead. “That’s correct.”

“And you can’t shut the damn thing off because -“

“It’s too late for that now! My body has become dependent on the higher levels of endorphins the implant generated.” Garak scoffed. 

“Turn it off, or leave it on to wear itself out - the outcome will be the same.”

“And that outcome is…what?” Incredulous, Julian waved a hand, indicating the situation as a whole. “You, suffering some sort of penance for the past two years?”

“A terminal penance.” Garak flinched, closed his eyes and leaned his weight back on the table. 

Something inside Julian broke. The worry and fear that had driven him from the infirmary to Garak’s quarters gave way to a flood of frustration that tightened his chest and squeezed his throat closed. Julian wasn’t even sure who the target of his anger even was - Garak himself? Cardassia? Enabran Tain, the alleged spy who had installed the implant in the first place? Or was it just that Garak was so _committed_ to not caring for himself, practically implying that Julian was not up to the task -

“So that’s it, then?” His voice was clipped, snappish. Julian let go of Celess’ feathers and folded his hands behind his back. “You’re going to give up and let them win.” 

“… _Them_ , doctor?” 

“The Central Command, the Obsidian Order, whoever it is that exiled you here -” 

As he spoke Garak narrowed his eyes and straightened up, scowling at the doctor’s impassioned speech.

“You’re just going to roll over and die, let them destroy you, give up _any hope_ of ever seeing Cardassia again -!”

Garak snorted in annoyance, leaned in so close that Julian could see the dark shadows under his eyes, see his dull scales. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an infuriating pest?”

Julian squared his thin shoulders. “Chief O’Brien, every day,” he retorted, bending down to scoop up Celess and cradle her to his chest, “and I never pay any attention to him or his dæmon, either!”

As Julian held Garak’s gaze he became aware that, after he grabbed Celess without thinking, her body very nearly filled the space between the two humanoids. His mindless gesture - a subconscious battening of hatches, a physical manifestation of his resolve and determination - had almost set his dæmon into Garak’s arms. For a split second Julian kept moving forwards - driven by a crazy impulse to shove Celess into Garak’s chest, as if this would somehow convey the seriousness of the situation. 

The physical alarm feeling from before was now stronger than ever, prickling the hairs on Julian’s arms and neck. It felt like the tension in between two complimentary magnets held just far enough apart, tensing Celess’ small body. Something in her was seeking out a second dæmon, like recognizing like, and Julian had a lightening-fast mental image of Celess and some small unidentifiable dæmon, preening her and speaking softly and able to _truly_ convey that Julian could help, _wanted_ to help - 

The feeling sapped his anger, clouding his thoughts. Julian squeezed Celess tighter, felt her tiny heart beating wildly through her body and his own. _Deoxygenated blood entering throughthecavalvein, through therightventricleto -_

Garak was still speaking, his chest almost brushing up against Julian’s hands and Celess’ trembling feathers. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he growled, that I might be getting what I deserve?”

Through the disorienting fog of proximity Julian replied, “No one deserves this.”

“Oh please, doctor.” Garak pulled away and began to pace along the fall wall of the unit. “I’m suffering enough without listening to your smug Federation sympathy.” 

As the Cardassian retreated, Julian’s clarity of thought returned. Celess shook her head, dispelling the confusing tension triggered by Garak’s presence.

Garak paused and turned to Julian once more, brows furrowed in incredulity and pain. “You think because we share a meal together once a week, you _know_ me? Do you know what I have seen, done to people like you?”

Celess’ face pressed into the hollow of his throat, and Julian counted the places where his dæmon’s ribs touched his own. _Diagnose. Treat. Compartmentalize._

_\- the lungs, fromthelungsthroughtheleftatriumtotheaortatothebrachialarteryto -_

_\- this isn’t going to work -_

_bring oxygentoflightmuscles in -_

“I’m a doctor. You’re my patient. That’s all I need to know.” 

“Wrong again.” The Cardassian’s voice was dangerously soft and spiderweb tense. “You need to know who you’re trying to save.”

“Your young, entitled Federation self could not begin to comprehend the things I witnessed. I have seen Bajorans torn in half, screaming as their delicate external selves are snuffed out like candles. One man died clawing his chest bloody. Others dropped dead when their dæmons were vaporized by phaser fire.” 

Julian’s grip around Celess became crushing, and she squeaked in pain as he compressed her delicate avian skeleton into his chest. He felt the overwhelming need to protect all of his being, to hold his dæmon tightly enough to pull her into his chest, to become a single being like Jadzia or Garak himself so that no one could take her away. 

But still Celess could feel remnants of that unnamed pull towards Garak, countering her sense of self-preservation. Something in her body that was desperate to commune with another. 

While Julian and his dæmon stood in a daze, Garak continued on. “But there is so much more. Did we ever discuss how I came to be exiled from Cardassia? How I ended up intercized, to use your charming analogy from earlier. Oh it had nothing to do with those Bajorans and their dæmons,” he added, glancing over at Julian’s expression. “If only it was so simple as that.” 

Garak’s story was awful. His confession to the murders was cool and toneless, as if he were merely dismissing an uninteresting passage of Human literature. Julian felt his shoulders slump, his grip on his dæmon loosen as the true horror set in. 

“You can’t be serious.” Celess was suddenly impossibly heavy in Julian’s arms, and he slowly lowered her leadened weight to the floor once again. She wobbled slightly, flared out her wings to regain her balance and the two leaned into each other. _Human fibula and tibia against avian femur and tarosmetatarsus._

“I followed my orders.” Again, a fleeting impression of pride distorted Garak’s cold smirk. “Not one of those prisoners escaped Bajor alive.” 

Julian stared down at Celess, suddenly feeling every single moment of sleep lost in the past 30 hours. 

_\- skull is composed of the premaxilla, maxilla, scleral ossicles - this isn’t going to work he’s going to die - frontalandparietal -_

“So now you know, doctor.” Garak was panting with exertion, shoulders rising and falling with every breath. His voice dripped derision. “I hope I haven’t shattered too many of your _illusions._ ” 

Garak looked at Julian with cool scorn, but somehow a tiny vindicated smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His gaze was almost mocking, almost daring the doctor to express the anger he felt. Daring him to do the rational thing and leave, to abandon Garak to his well-deserved suffering. 

Celess butted her head up into Julian’s left hand, and he slowly stroked her feathers. _\- angular, articular - he will die if we don’t save him._

For a moment there was silence, only broken by Garak’s ragged breath.

“Listen to me, Garak.” 

_we have to save him._

He gave Celess one last stroke along the feathered crest of her head, and as he spoke she slowly made her way through the dark apartment, approaching the lone viewport. Garak’s gaze followed her progress. 

“I don’t care what you did in the past. What matters now is you get the help you need.” With a graceful leap and a flutter of feathers, Celess leapt up onto the small ledge around the oval window. “I am not going to walk out of this apartment and let you die.”

Celess stretched out a wing, fluffed her feathers and, as Julian finished speaking, settled down onto the sill of the viewport. With a great amount of show she snaked her neck around, tucked her bill under her feathers, gave Garak a meaningful look, and closed her eyes. 

Even to a person without a dæmon, the implication was clear. _We’re not going anywhere._

Julian was still speaking. “No matter what side effects or withdrawal you may endure, I’ll be right here with you.”

Julian took the risk, reached out and gently touched Garak on the shoulder. The Cardassian flinched, his gaze lifting from Celess’ slight pale frame and returning to the Human.

Instead of the expected fury, the condescension from before, when Julian met Garak’s gaze he again saw startling, genuine fear in his eyes. The same look from the previous night, before the emergency beam to the Infirmary. 

Garak quickly looked away.

“Please, Garak. We need to disable the implant.” Julian squeezed his shoulder gently. “Where is your device?”

Julian held his breath, felt dual pulses beat in his throat and in Celess’ chest. He was waiting for Garak to fling his arm away, to shove Julian back, to throw him and his dæmon out of his quarters - 

But Garak just nodded. “The desk. Top drawer on the left.”

Julian fumbled with the knob and pulled the drawer open slowly. He was not surprised to find it completely empty, save a small electronic device that rattled around as the drawer slid open. It appeared to be a data rod, or something that was built out of a data rod. 

He looked up at Garak for one more final confirmation. Garak’s gaze drifted from Celess, a white ghost in the dark room, to Julian. He nodded. 

_Diagnose. Treat. Compartmentalize._

_Save him._

Julian flipped the toggle on the remote, then neatly snapped the device in half. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nurse Jabara’s daemon is a viscacha, a South American relative of the chinchilla. They act quite a bit like meerkats, in which individuals in a colony look out for each other and alarm call if a threat is nearby. They also sit in the sun like meerkats, which is adorable.
> 
> Julian’s Celess is, as always, a lesser flamingo. 
> 
> If you’d like to learn a bit more about the A&P terms Julian was yammering on about, this is a great resource!
> 
> —
> 
> Thank you for your patience with this! I am not a confident writer (lol), and honestly more than anything this was a fun opportunity for me to describe birds for fun. I have been picking at this… thing… for months now, I’m hoping it’s similarly entertaining to at least a few other people.
> 
> Should be 2 more chapters before this is finished up. Oh, and forgive the re-titling; I am terrible at naming anything, but I found a better fitting angsty indie bop I’d rather use.


End file.
